‘You promised three rounds.’
‘But I have already won,’ said the King. ‘What purpose would a third round serve? Already, your shadow is well nigh gone, and with it, much of your memory. Stop now, and join me, and keep the memory of your Daisy. If it amuses you, I can even bring her, sometimes, to keep you company.’
For a moment, Fay felt herself weaken. What was she still trying to prove? The King was much more powerful. Another attempt to match him would rob her of what little was left. There could be no shame in accepting defeat: after all, had not Mabs told her to keep her plaid, and her memories, close?
The Hallowe’en King seemed to guess her thoughts. ‘Come to me,’ he repeated, now holding out his living hand. ‘Come to me. Take my hand, and you can see your Daisy.’
And with a gesture, he banished the lavish auditorium, with its empty seats and stifling draperies. In its place was a forest scene, with sunlight filtering through the leaves. It must have been spring, because Fay could see hawthorns in bloom, and the spikes of wild garlic, and primroses, and bluebells.
It was the scene she had glimpsed through the cracks in the pavement on Piccadilly. She felt a surge of fierce joy. It was real; so real that she could hear the leaves, smell the bluebells. And there was Daisy, lying asleep under a blanket embroidered with stars.
Instinctively, Fay started towards her. But even as her feet touched the grass, the idyllic scene faded away and she was alone with the Hallowe’en King in the dusty hall of the dead.
‘The choice is yours,’ said the Hallowe’en King. ‘Your daughter by your side, or the loss of everything you have ever loved. Which is it to be, my Queen? Your King awaits your pleasure.’
Fay sighed and turned to face him again. The fleeting scent of bluebells still lingered in the dusty air. But it was an illusion, she knew, like all his other illusions. Nothing grew in the Kingdom of Death. Nothing was scented or beautiful.
The Hallowe’en King was still waiting, his living hand outstretched. She looked into his dead blue eye and said: ‘Then hear my decision. If I must I will give myself to you, shadow and substance, body and soul. But we shall have our final round, whatever it may cost me.’
The Hallowe’en King shrugged. ‘So be it,’ he said. With a weary gesture, he summoned the stage and the spotlight. Fay could just see her shadow, pale as a petal on the boards. Let the wind blow, she thought. Let the horn play. Whatever else you take from me, my plaid shall not be blown away.
There was no auditorium now. But she needed a song. What was left to her but scraps? She reached into her pocket and drew out the tiny notebook. Concealing it in the palm of her hand, she looked up at the Hallowe’en King and, summoning her most artless smile, said: ‘May I make a request, my King? I need some time to collect my thoughts. Perhaps, if you were to perform first?’
The King raised an eyebrow. ‘Playing for time? My Queen, we have all the time in the Worlds.’ And he picked up his harp and ran his hands along the strings of golden hair that had been cut from a murdered girl, long ago and far away.
‘I wonder,’ said Fay, ‘could I make a request for the ballad of King Orfeo? For I have heard only part of the tale, and long to know the whole story.’
The Hallowe’en King gave a tiny frown over his gilded harp of bone. ‘The ballad of King Orfeo?’ he said. ‘What makes you speak of that old tale?’
Fay said: ‘I heard it in London Beneath. A pretty tale, with a haunting melody. But I never heard how it ended. And so, if it please Your Majesty, I would have you tell me how King Orfeo lost his shadow.’
The Hallowe’en King seemed to hesitate. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said: ‘If that is your wish, so be it, my Queen.’ And he started to tell her the story.
The Shadowless Man
≈
‘Yees tak your lady, an yees gaeng hame,
An yees be king ower a’ your ain.’
He’s taen his lady, an he’s gaen hame,
An noo he’s king ower a’ his ain.
Child Ballad no. 19: King Orfeo
One
‘Long ago,’ began the King, ‘long ago and far away, when all the Worlds were honeycomb, King Orfeo went to the Land of the Dead to plead for the return of his Queen. The Hallowe’en King was moved by his song, and agreed to release the lady, but Death is one of the Trickster’s line, and his gift was a cruel one.
‘Returning home to his own land, King Orfeo found his wife much changed. Her time in the Kingdom of Death had made her cold and unresponsive. And then one day, Orfeo awoke to find that she had fled his side, forsaking her realm and her subjects, and leaving no clue to her whereabouts. For six long years, King Orfeo sought her all across the Worlds, but when he found her, he realized that she no longer knew him. She had fallen in love with a commoner, and given him a daughter, whom she loved more than anything. She remembered nothing of her life, her encounter with Death, or even her name.
‘And yet the King would not let go – could not let go – of his love for her. He went to consult the Oracle, to find out how to win her back, but the Oracle merely responded with mockery and riddles. And so the King took his golden harp and journeyed back to the Land of the Dead. The road was long and dangerous, but finally he reached Death’s shore, and called for its ruler to come to him.
‘“You lied to me, Lord Death,” he cried. “You promised to return my wife. But the woman I brought home with me is not my wife. You kept back her shadow, and with it, her memory of the love she once bore me. Thus, by the bond Death cannot break, I challenge you to face me.”
‘The Lord of the Kingdom of Death took his time in answering the summons. When he finally appeared, regal in his hawkmoth cloak and his crown of dead man’s ivory, his face was grim, and his living eye gleamed with a fearsome anger.
‘“You called me a liar,” he said; and although his voice was very soft, the Nine Worlds shivered at the sound. “No one in the Nine Worlds has ever called me a liar.”
‘“Then seek satisfaction,” said Orfeo, “and we shall see whose cause is just.”
‘Lord Death gave a crack of laughter. “You think you can win against me? I am Death. By my nature, I win all battles.”
‘“Then you cannot fail to win this one,” said King Orfeo, smiling.
‘Lord Death gave his twisted smile, although deep down he was puzzled. What could King Orfeo hope to achieve through a duel? How could a mortal defeat Death?
‘“Very well,” he said at last. “Name your weapon.”
‘“I have it here,” said Orfeo, holding out his golden harp. “I challenge you to a contest for my lady’s shadow. The one who wins will claim her heart, and take her, either to the Land of Death, or back to the land of the Living.”
‘The Ruler of the Land of Death considered the words of King Orfeo. “Very well,” he said at last. “But if you lose, I will take you both, body and soul, for ever.”
‘King Orfeo smiled. “Agreed,” he said. “But you are ruler of this land. Everything in it obeys you. I request the right to hold our contest in neutral territory. Let us hold it in Dream, where neither of us has the advantage.”
‘Lord Death frowned at King Orfeo’s words. “Death cannot leave his realm,” he said, “without risking disaster.”
‘“But time has no meaning in Dream,” said the King. “In Dream, a lifetime may pass, or a world can be built in a second. Our contest would pass in the blink of an eye. No one need even know of it.”
‘Lord Death considered the request. “Very well,” he said at last. “We shall duel as you say.”
‘King Orfeo smiled. “I have but one more request.”
‘The Ruler of the Land of Death was surprised into laughter, for the first time in many years. He said: “Is there no end to your demands?” but his living eye shone with amusement.
‘“Your living eye sees the Nine Worlds,” King Orfeo went on humbly. “But your dead eye sees all that happens in Dream. To ensure that our duel is conducted in complete
fairness, I would ask you to put it aside. Leave it here in Death, my Lord, and meet me, man to man, in Dream.”
‘Lord Death was of the Trickster’s line, which meant he was suspicious. But it also meant he was arrogant. He knew that King Orfeo was the greatest musician alive, but Death is the master of everything and everyone that has ever lived, and he knew Orfeo could not win. And so he took out his all-seeing Eye and laid it on his bone-white throne, and Lord Death and King Orfeo stepped into Dream together.
‘Death went first, and played a music so sublime that dreamers all across the Nine Worlds heard it, and wept, and smiled. Estranged lovers remembered their love and reached for each other in the dark; children called out for their mothers; old folk dreamed of summers past. King Orfeo heard it, and he knew that this was a contest he could not win.
‘But the Trickster’s line is a long one. King Orfeo, too, was a trickster, and he had taken years to make his plans. As Death played his melody in Dream, having left behind his all-seeing Eye, King Orfeo began to put his long-dreamed plan into action. The Oracle’s riddles had proved easy to solve. The first answer was bees, the weavers of dream. The second, the land of Dream itself. And the third was Death, the shadowless land where the people themselves are all shadows.
‘Now, he knew he must act fast. Time might seem endless in Dream, but in fact he had only seconds. First, he reached out to a dreamer, and sent her a vision of himself: a vision that would stay with her for all the years of her young life. Then, in an instant, he crossed into Death, and stood before the empty throne. And there he thought of the Oracle’s words:
When you can walk shadowless at noon
Every sage grows merry in time
Hand in hand, once more you may
Lovers be; together again.
‘For this, of course, had been the truth of the Oracle’s prophecy. The only way for King Orfeo to be reunited with his beloved was to take the throne of the Hallowe’en King, and to assume his regency. And so he plucked out his left eye, and in its place put the Eye of the King, and sat himself on the bone-white throne, and put on the crown of ivory. And there he waited for many long years, knowing one day his lady would come; awaiting his chance to reclaim her.
‘As for Lord Death – without his powers, he was left floating helpless in Dream, trapped in a web of music. Dream took his mind, but his music remained, spinning out into the Worlds like shining strands of spider silk. And there he remains eternally, for Hallowe’en Kings and Queens come and go, but Death is an ocean without any shore, and it endures for ever.’
The Hallowe’en King paused in his tale, and turned his mismatched eyes towards Fay. ‘Are you sure you want the end of this tale?’ he said, and his voice was gentle.
Fay nodded. ‘Did she come?’ she said. ‘Did she answer his call from Dream?’
‘Oh, his call was not to her,’ said the Hallowe’en King with a smile. ‘I told you, the Queen had already moved on. She had another family now; a daughter she loved more than Life itself. No, King Orfeo knew she would never respond to his voice. And so he called to someone else: his Queen’s six-year-old daughter.’
Two
For a long time Fay said nothing. Her thoughts were like a tangle of briars; her heart like the Night Train’s engine. It was all beginning to make sense to her, with the twisted logic of certain dreams: the Shadowless Man; the riddles; the rose – even her failing memory.
‘You knew that if you took Daisy, I’d come,’ she said at last, in a trembling voice. ‘And you knew that bringing me here, like this, was the one sure way to make me forget her.’
The Hallowe’en King gave his twisted smile. ‘Believe me, it hasn’t been easy,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d make it this far. And yet you did. Your love brought you here. You followed the trail I left for you, all the way across the Worlds. I was in your daughter’s dreams; I showed her to you in London Before. I led you closer, step by step, through the realm of Faërie, over the sea to Norrowa, into the maelstrom of Dream and finally, to the Shadowless Land. Through my all-seeing Eye I watched; and through your dreams I led you home.’
Fay listened to the Hallowe’en King, suddenly feeling very calm. There was a rushing sound in her head like that of a cold wind through the eaves. ‘You were King Orfeo,’ she said. ‘You were Daisy’s Shadowless Man. You’re the reason…’ she went on, feeling the words turn to ice on her tongue. ‘You’re the reason she killed herself.’
He nodded. ‘It was the only way. I did it because I love you, my Queen. Love greater than Life and stronger than Death. I did it all for you, for the sake of the love we had together.’
Fay felt the rushing sound in her head swell to a blizzard. ‘And Alberon?’ she said at last. ‘Was he another illusion?’
‘Do not despise illusions,’ said the Hallowe’en King in his quiet voice. ‘Glamours are how we show the truth that cannot be spoken. You loved me once, as Alberon, back in our realm of Faërie. I hoped you might remember me if I showed you what you had lost.’
Fay looked at him, and did not flinch at the sight of his skeletal profile. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘So what happens now?’
The Hallowe’en King raised his skeletal hand, and from the hall of dust there came a woman, all in white brocade. Her hair was longer than Fay’s, and yet Fay still recognized her face – after all, she’d seen it in the mirror every day for the past forty years. But it was Fay as she might have been, in some alternate story: a fairy tale; a distant dream, from when the Worlds were honeycomb.
‘Make a choice,’ said the Hallowe’en King. ‘Take my hand and you can reclaim your shadow; your true memories. You can be the woman you were; the woman with whom I fell in love. Your life among the Folk will be a fading dream, a candle flame that flickers out, leaving nothing but smoke behind.’
‘And if I don’t?’ said Fay.
‘Then you will be nothing; shadowless. It will be as if you never lived.’
Fay nodded slowly. ‘And Daisy?’
‘Forget her,’ said the Hallowe’en King. ‘You have already forgotten her. Take back your shadow and share my throne, and you shall be my Hallowe’en Queen, just as the Oracle prophesied.’
Fay looked at the shadow of herself standing before the bone-white throne. The other Fay was so beautiful that she could hardly look at her, and yet she knew they were one and the same; reflections in a dark glass. For a moment, she found herself thinking of the statue over the Shaftesbury fountain: the one that so many call Eros.
Eros, god of love, she thought. So many cruel and selfish things have been done in Eros’s name. Like the man before her now, who had lured an innocent girl to her death in order to satisfy his desire. Strange, that he should be revered, and his twin almost forgotten. And yet, that was his statue: Anteros, the selfless one; high against the London sky on wings as light as a butterfly’s.
‘Why do you hesitate?’ said the King. ‘I’m offering you eternal love. I am restoring you to your real life, to the future that was taken from us. Take back your shadow, and come to me, and we shall set the Worlds aflame. All you have to do is choose.’
And just for a moment, Fay could see the attraction of that future. Herself, immortal; perfected; all sorrow put away for good. Smiling, she reached out her hand—
And said: ‘I’ll take my turn now.’
Three
The Hallowe’en King made no protest, but Fay could sense his baffled rage. With a gesture, he banished the hall, the throne, and Fay found herself in a desert, bleak; unbroken to every horizon.
He faced her, one eye like a blade, the other dark with anger. ‘Then take your turn, my Queen,’ he said. ‘And weep for what you could have had.’
Fay reached into her pocket for the shell, and into her memory for a song. Neither was forthcoming. She must have dropped the shell, she thought, while the King was telling his tale. And now, without a song to sing, she had no chance of matching him.
I had no chance anyway, she told herself. And yet my Dais
y shall have her song. If it costs me the very last drop of my blood: if it costs me my mind, she shall have it.
And she opened the tiny notebook that she had kept in her pocket, and started to read in a low, clear voice, while all the time watching the thin heat-haze of her shadow on the ground. As she read the words aloud, they faded from the page like smoke, leaving the paper blank once more.
‘The cake I made when she was four, shaped like Thomas the Tank Engine. The first time she went to the theatre.’
The Hallowe’en King narrowed his living eye. ‘This is pointless, my Lady,’ he said. ‘I beg you, spare us both this charade.’
Fay ignored him and went on. ‘The sandcastle we built, on the beach in Brighton. In the coffee shop at King’s Cross, with a cup of chocolate. Feeding the squirrels in Green Park.’
‘Please, my Lady,’ said the King, and she thought his voice was unsteady. ‘Let us have no more of this.’
Fay went on ignoring him. Her voice rang out across the sand. ‘Her first day at school. Her first Christmas. Her midnight-blue tent, embroidered with stars. In the park on Bonfire Night, writing our names with a sparkler. Grabbing my finger, the day she was born. It felt as if she would never let go.’
‘Don’t,’ said the King in an urgent voice. ‘Just take my hand, and I’ll release her. Only stop this madness. Take my hand, and I promise you—’
‘Her name was Daisy. Her favourite toy—’
The King made a sound of anger and pain, and Fay saw tears in his living eye.
‘—her favourite toy was a tiger.’
She looked down at the hot pale sand, searching for her shadow. But looking down, she found it gone, and now she realized that she could no longer remember the toy, or even the colour of Daisy’s eyes.
Then she looked back at the notebook, and saw that all the pages were blank.
Orfeia Page 10
